Page 17 of The Game Is Afoot

“Cole? Cole!”

I turn just in time to see Coach Cole stagger and then fall over. His head smacks the field with a loud thud.

“Someone call nine-one-one!”

I’m struggling to process what’s happening, what I’m looking at. Because he was just standing there, completely fine. But now he’s clutching his chest, fingers curled into claws. His rapid breaths are quickly descending into a crackling wheeze thatmakes my own chest ache. And there’s vomit on the ground next to him, the same neon yellow as his countless energy drinks.

Jasmine and Leon rush to his side to help.

I should, too. Or, no. I shouldn’t. Because I am not a nurse or a doctor and I would just be in the way. But I should dosomething. I should call the police, the ambulance. I should help push back the kids who are creeping closer, trying to see. I should help them calm down.

But that would require being calm myself. And I am anything but calm right now.

My vision swims and my chest tightens even more. I can’t catch my breath, like my throat is one of those stupid paper straws collapsing with a single drop of liquid, which totally defeats the purpose of a straw, but we’re all just supposed to pretend like we like them because of the turtles, and I shouldn’t even be thinking this because I’m supposed to care about the environment—Idocare about the environment—but also I shouldn’t be thinking about this because there is an emergency happening right in front of me, right now, and why am I still standing here? Why am I thinking about fucking paper straws? My racing heart is like a frantic drumbeat and as it thunders in my ears, its message rings clearer, drowning every other stupid thought out, until it’s all I hear and think and understand. Run, run,run!

So I listen. I do the only thing that makes sense. I pick up Pearl and run.

Six

“Do you want to talkabout what happened?”

Pearl and I made it safely to my car, her giggling the whole way like it was a silly game. But she sobered quickly when she saw the not-so-silly faces of Papa, Corey, and Jack, who chased after us.

Later the worst was confirmed through a short, whispered call with Jasmine. Coach Cole was dead, the cause unknown for now, but it sure looked like a heart attack. He didn’t even make it to the hospital.

And dealing with that—explaining the unthinkable to Pearl, holding her tight when her little body shook with sobs, answering all her unanswerable questions—took up so much of the weekend that I didn’t even have time to process my own feelings. How I reacted, running away with Pearl instead of…doing anything rational.

But now it’s late Sunday night, I’m out on the back patio while Dad and Pearl snore away inside, and of course my school psychologist boyfriend is going to give me my very own personalsession of Making Friends With Big Feelings. If only he didn’t look so cute doing it, and then I could be a lot more annoyed.

He reaches between us, where our two metal chairs meet, and threads his fingers through mine. His hand is a warm anchor in the cool night air.

“You mean how I threw Pearl over my shoulders like a sack of potatoes and did a Flo-Jo to my Prius?” I avoid his eyes because then maybe I can get away with keeping this light.

“It was quite the athletic feat.”

“Well,athleticis a stretch. I think I’m gonna need to mainline ibuprofen as punishment for the foreseeable future.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Do you think they’ll give me a frequent-buyer discount already? I swear me and my dad must be responsible for, like, at least a twelfth of their annual sales.”

He squeezes my hand and brings it to his cheek. He knows what I’m doing.

“When did my body start hurting this much? I used to be in shape. Or, I mean…vaguely, um, capable. Notunhealthy.”

“Mavis,” he murmurs. I sigh, finally meeting his gaze. His green eyes are curved into half-moons as they gently search mine. He kisses my fingers, communicating without words that he’ll be patient, but, like, maybe we don’t have to pretend that I ever could have easily carried an almost-eight-year-old any distance. And that’s really all I need to take a swing at the wall I had to put up for Pearl.

“I feel like I’m losing it,” I admit in a whisper. “Or no—that I’ve already…lost it.”

My voice cracks, and he curls in closer to me.

“For the record, I don’t think you’ve lost it,” he says, breath soft on my cheek. He brushes a quick kiss to the side of my lips.“But feeling like that…it would be understandable considering all that you’ve been through, babe.”

“I’ve—I’ve always been able to keep it moving, keep it going, no matter the stress.” The wall had a tiny break, and now it’s crumbling. Tears well in my eyes faster than I can blink them away. “I’veknownI need to slow down. And like…take a beat and take care of myself, and it’s even felt dire at times. But—but it’s never actuallybeendire. That’s why I’ve been able to just reschedule taking care of myself for so long. And keep pushing the finish line, you know? But now it feels like I’ve finally pushed it too far. Because I was really acting crazy, wasn’t I? And I’m just—just…sotired. It’s like my brain shut down yesterday and my body took over. It felt like I wasn’t in control, and I’malwaysin control.”

“You are very capable,” he says, wiping my cheek. “And that’s a good thing. But it can also be a bad thing.”

“How can that be a bad thing?” I sniff. “Very capableis a good thing by, like, definition. You’re really gonna take that away from me? Now, in my hour of need?”

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